


gold star

by matsinko



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Drabble, M/M, implied established relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 05:20:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8315458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matsinko/pseuds/matsinko
Summary: Tsukishima doesn't expect a win. So when Yamaguchi serves the winning point at Nationals, it hits him harder than expected.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr prompt: Tsukkiyama + “Shut up.”  
> “I didn’t say anything!”  
> “Don’t care. Shut up.” by anon.

Tsukishima doesn’t expect to win. He goes into each game with a neutral, calm rationality, lets his thoughts focus on the game itself; on each and every move and jump, on the familiar sting from where the ball collides with his palms. 

So when Yamaguchi executes a perfect float service ace that also proves to be their winning point during the first round at Nationals, the joy of winning hits Tsukishima harder than expected.

He knows winning, they have won plenty of times, but he always centres himself around content gratification, around careful analysis of what they did right and wrong; he doesn’t let emotions get the better of his character, so he always stays quiet, pensive. He lets his teammates do the cheering, he lets them hug and scream when Tanaka spikes a winning ball, or when Hinata utilises a perfect toss from Kageyama to steal the win.

But when the reality settles in and he turns around only to be met by Yamaguchi’s eyes, wide and radiant and still washed in disbelief, something snaps inside of Tsukishima, a spark turns into a wildfire before the rational part of him gets a hold, and he’s running before he knows it, stumbling over the distance to the server’s line.

He can see the words forming on Yamaguchi’s tongue, the way his lips open, the way his throat contract around the first word, “Tsukki, I–”

“Shut up,” Tsukishima cuts him off and feels the adrenaline rush all over again, the sweet anticipation, the nervous trepidation of what Yamaguchi might say, of what he _will_ say if Tsukishima doesn’t interrupt. 

And god, he wants to hear it, he is dying to, but he also wants them to be alone; he wants to take his sweet time to enjoy the full attention Yamaguchi gifts him with, to be able to breathe the words in, taste them on hips lips, feel how they sound when Yamaguchi mumbles them into his mouth.

“I didn’t say anything yet,” is what Yamaguchi says then, a blissful knowing smile on his face, eyes liquid brown and oh so beautiful, dipped in intensity one can rarely find in Yamaguchi’s gaze. 

“Don’t care,” Tsukishima says, his voice coming high and cracked, “shut up,” he repeats, just barely, for good measure and Yamaguchi doesn’t answer because he understands. He has always read Tsukishima like an open book, and today it is no difference. 

Emotions wash over him like a tidal wave and he feels like he’ll tip over a line he’s scared to cross. So he shifts, focuses his eyes on the gym floor, tries to stop the telltale sting behind his eyes, the tremble in his fingers, the excited jump of his heart inside his chest. 

But Yamaguchi thinks ahead, and there are arms around his shoulders, Yamaguchi’s weight crashing into Tsukishima with absolute abandon, bringing them both down to the gym floor. His knees hurt from where they collide with the court ground, but he doesn’t care–he doesn’t care because all his mind reels on is Yamaguchi’s winning serve, on the almost feverish heat radiating from his body, of his arms around Tsukishima’s back.

He tries to breathe, but his breath catches in his throat and he buries his face in the juncture of Yamaguchi’s neck and shoulder, hides the way his eyes water, his fingers curling around Yamaguchi’s jersey hard enough to bruise the freckled skin underneath. 

Yamaguchi is talking, he can feel the voice vibrating through him from where their bodies are touching, but he hears nothing, it’s just white noise, his head full of cotton. He can make out his name in the jumble of Yamaguchi’s words, can feel the euphoria, ringing high-pitched in the way he speaks.

Yamaguchi shushes him then, his palm gently moving up and down alongside Tsukishima’s back just before the rest of the team descent upon them into a mess of limbs and bodies, of roaring voices, dipped in joyful cheers and all he thinks is - it’s okay, it’s okay to be happy, because he’s in Yamaguchi’s arms and it’s right where he belongs.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading ☆
> 
> ([my tumblr](http://matsinko.tumblr.com))


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